"Why did you wash them?" Dove asked, because Sprout had managed to make a perfectly normal question sound like a trap involving her underwear.
Thorne looked at the gloves. "They needed washing."
"Excellent. That was almost painfully reasonable. Is there another answer I should know before the entire hall develops an opinion?"
The salvage keeper resumed sorting with the careful attention of a man who was absolutely listening. Thorne noticed him, then returned his gaze to Dove instead of asking him to leave.
"I wanted you to take them because you wanted them," he said. "Not because they smelled like me."
She touched the thick cuff, trying to imagine someone in Cleveland saying that over a pair of used gloves. The closest she had come was a customer demanding a refund because a sweater smelled like the boyfriend she had dumped.
"I can accept warm hands without accepting anything else," Dove said.
"I heard you," Thorne answered, and left before she could decide whether that made the gift easier or worse.
The gloves stayed beside her bowl through dinner. By closing, she had put them on twice and taken them off whenever she caught herself thinking about who had worn them first. Sprout was not invited to comment on either event. Before bed she brought out a basin of pool water and washed behind the tarp, keeping the warm water away from her papers.
Morning arrived with tangled fur, stale sweat, and the firm knowledge that she could not spend another day pretending a clean face meant the rest of her had participated. She closed the tarp before opening the mission panel.
Day Nine offered three sealed matchboxes on consignment. Selling two earned ten normal coins; five fresh Favor Coins unlocked underwear priced at twelve normal coins. Dove accepted, with twenty-one normal and three Favor already in her separate purses. One matchbox left at closing meant paying to keep it or paying to return it. Apparently even the apocalypse had restocking fees.
"You locked underwear behind male reactions?" she asked. "Do you have a board of directors, or did Satan handle the product design personally?"
"You requested clothing access. This is the next available shelf."
She accepted both tasks with the enthusiasm of someone signing a parking ticket. She checked the gate and listened for anyone calling through the tarp before sitting on her mat. Then she entered the space with her mind and filled her personal basin at the pool. Her body remained seated outside while she gripped the basin to bring it back.
The pool water arrived at the same temperature as before, comfortable against her fingers. Dove set the basin on the floor and used her personal cloth, soap, and a little shampoo to wash herself in sections. Her borrowed clothes stayed on the dry shelf. There was no magical shower, and reaching the underside of her tail remained a workplace injury waiting to happen.
She rinsed carefully, brought out more water when needed, and kept the used water separate from the pool. By the time she had dried and dressed, her shoulders had relaxed for the first time since waking. Clean was not the same as home, but it was closer than she had been an hour ago.
Her tail looked brighter when she worked through the damp fur with her fingers. The tiny rough patch beside her knuckle felt smoother too. She held her hand near the gap beneath the tarp and waited for the usual sting of cold air.
It still felt cold. It simply did not bite quite as quickly.
"Sprout, did that water do something besides wash off my terrible decisions?"
"One daily wash supports gradual strengthening, healthier skin and fur, and greater cold tolerance. Extra washes that day do not multiply the gain. It does not replace clothing, food, or shelter."
"You mentioned strengthening before. You did not mention an apocalypse skincare routine."
"You had been investigating injuries. Today’s use provided a broader application."
She considered throwing the cloth at the inside of her own head, decided the logistics were poor, and asked what else the water did.
Sprout produced a new description beneath the pool information. Regular washing could bring out a scent that different adult beastmen experienced as something personally desirable. The response depended on the man. It did not change his choices or make his feelings reliable.
Dove read the description twice. "My bath has targeted advertising."
"You requested the full list of observed and available effects."
"I requested clean armpits. Those are extremely different subscription plans."
She had already used the water on smaller areas without causing a riot. Sprout explained that a full wash spread the effect more widely. The intensity would fade, and plain water could reduce what remained on the surface. Dove wrote that down with several questions about duration that Sprout could not answer precisely for her yet.
When she opened the stall, a broad-faced beastman carrying canned vegetables stopped mid-step. His nose lifted, and his eyes followed the white fur spilling over her shoulder.
"You smell like warm bread," he said, then appeared to remember that other people existed. "Sorry. I meant, there’s something..."
"The kitchen is that way," Dove told him. "Try buying dinner before proposing to the display."
He laughed, embarrassed, and traded a sealed tin of peaches for two matchboxes. The named sales target completed, adding ten normal coins for a balance of thirty-one. The fruit belonged to Dove, and the third matchbox still belonged to her irritating supplier.
Sprout identified the armed runner as eligible and credited three Favor Coins for amusement, bringing that purse to six. She still needed two new Favor Coins for today’s target. The completed sales task could not fill that gap, however hard she glared at it.
Two men had slowed near the stall. One stared at her face while the other looked around for a scent he could not place. Neither was buying anything.
"You can look at the goods too," she said. One of the lingering men asked whether she accepted courting gifts. When she refused, he bought an older button with a length of cord and stayed long enough to wish her a good morning. Apparently her reputation was less frightening than spending another winter without speaking to a woman.
Thorne arrived carrying his work rope and stopped farther away than usual. His golden eyes moved over her clean hair, then fixed on her mouth before he visibly dragged them back to her eyes.
"What?" she asked, pulling her tail behind the counter. "Did I leave soap on my face?"
"No," he said, voice rougher than yesterday. "You should know they’re not smelling bread. Not all of them."
Across the hall, Kael paused outside the clinic. Ash stood beside him, watching both men watch her, and Dove suddenly wished she had bought the underwear before opening for business.